


Celestial Seasons

by Hopeful_Demon



Category: Macbeth - Shakespeare
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 13:05:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18476836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopeful_Demon/pseuds/Hopeful_Demon
Summary: 't hath been ten years since macbeth's headeth did doth roll. Malcolm is high king of scotland. But doest yond changeth at which hour fleance meets the hags yond whither did doth sayeth to hath't did betoken macbeth to killeth?





	1. Chapter 1

_ Enter  _ **_Malcom_ ** _ angrily and concerned unnamed  _ **_lord_ **

  


Malcom:

I wilt not taketh a jointress. I hath't nay interest in distaff or expanding mine power through the act of feather-bed. 

Lord: 

Then what of love?  

Malcom:

If 't be true a mistress dose maketh mine heart flutter with love, like a bird did doth catch in a cage, then I might did wed or I might not. However this as yet to changeth the fact none of the suitors thee or any other lord hath did doth endue ere me hath yet to spark such a deep passion as love such as the one mine father did feel for mine mother. What is love? Without attraction? Without intimacy? Without attachment? And what of loyalty? 

Lord:

What of 't, mine king?

Malcom:

Love is hollow without 't, mine lief lord! Hollow as the wind's mournful caterwauling's for the evil tyrant's death! 't is nothing, but a pointless endeavor of hollow bruits of what one wouldn't dare calleth love or coequal lust, for 't is exsufflicate.   

Lord:  _ paling at the very suggestion of MacBeth _

Ay, sir.

Malcom:  _ Apologetic for scaring his lord. _

Don't act afraid. goodyear is long since dead, don't did let ghosts of the past hold thee locked in fear of the present. I knoweth thee worry for me and mine kingdom's well fair, 't is something all mine lord's art constantly reminding me of, but prithee respect mine wishes to thee and the other lords feather-bed is not in mine personal interests. If 't be true I befall to wend the rest of mine life without taking the handeth of a mistress to beest by mine side for eternity then I wilt taketh a son not of mine blood to beest the Prince of Cumberland. 

  


_ Exit  _ **_Malcom_ ** _ and  _ **_Lord_ **


	2. Chapter 2

_ Enter the  _ **_three weird sisters_ ** _ and  _ **_Hecate_ **

Hecate:

Art thee eft mine sisters of earth and stars. 

First Sister: 

Aye, Hag of the North.

Hecate:  _ to first sister _

Grateful Hippolyta, Mother of the East, at each moment so eager to maketh up for wrong doings done to the Sons of the False One God.

Hippolyta: 

Thank thee, fusty wise one.  _ (To second sister) _ What sayeth thee, Jaquenetta, Virgin of the South?

Jaquenetta:

Mine stomach turns like an army of plague rats art giving birth in 't. Thee all recall the last time we mettled in mortal affairs.     

Hecate:

Gentle Jaquenetta, mine lief sister. Thou 't wast thy idea to telleth indign MacBeth of his fate, 't wasn't thee who is't did create the cockatrices he did doth becometh, only awakened 't. The folly of not judging a sir by their heart but words, for words art exsufflicate without the heart behind those folk.   _ (To third sister)  _ Oh, innocent Anne, Daughter of the West, youngest sister, wherefore doth thee not speaketh?

Anne: 

Hecate, how doest one telleth if 't be true a sir's heart?

Hecate:

Thee don't.

Hippolyta:

Quite mine sisters! Hither cometh the young Fleance!

 

_ (Enter  _ **_Fleance_ ** _ , exit  _ **_Hecate_ ** _ ) _

 

Fleance:

Who is't goeth thither?

Anne:

A humble window to what hath been.

Jaquenetta:

A humble window to what is.

Hippolyta:

A humble window to what wilt beest.

Fleance:

By the lord's holy name. Ye art the three weird sisters MacBeth did speak at length is his writing, art thee not?  

All Three Sisters:

Ay 

Fleance:

But in the writings he did doth sayeth thee only did speak in rhyme…

 

_ ( _ **_sisters_ ** _ are silent because they messed up) _

 

Anne:  _ thinking fast. _

Only on sundays and wednesdays and 't is a monday so…. we don't speaketh in rhyme…  _ ( _ **_Anne_ ** _ nervously laughs, while the others glare at her for speaking out of turn) _

Fleance:

What evils doth thee wanteth from me, for thee wilt receiveth none, for I am a leigeman of god!

Hippolyta:

Doth thee wanteth thy bodement or not?       

 

_ Fleance is quite at this, the hags art not at all what he did expect from what he wast raised to believeth to beest the power of the flibbertigibbet.     _

 

__ Fleance: 

Aye? 

 

_ He speaks unsure of his own agenda.  _

 

Hippolyta:

Hail, fleance, son of banquo. 

Jaquenetta:

Hail, fleance, the prince of cumberland. 

Anne:

Hail, the one who is't fights wars but doesn't start them. 

Hippolyta:

Hail, the blade wast did maketh for peace but draws blood. 

Jaquenetta:

Hail, the king of nay royal blood. 

Anne:

For at which hour at which hour thither is nay blood of kings on the throne, the stars turn red with blood. 

Hippolyta:

Hail, fleance the did betray and betrayer.

Jaquenetta:

Hail, betrayer of the the False. 

Anne:

Hail, fleance, king of scotland.   

All Sisters:

A promise did hold 'til death.

 

_ Weird sisters vanish in to air, except for anne. Who is't is obviously nervous, but eke appears to wanteth to sayeth more. _

 

Fleance:

What evils doth thee berate mine ears? Doth thee liken me to macbeth? I wilt not falleth down the same trap thee did set for him, i am not a doe for thee to hunt down and slay with trickery! Anon pray pardon me yourself!        

Anne:  _ looks away ashamed _

Coequal though we hath't means to behold towards the future doest not cullionly we truly knoweth what 't holds. We art trying to maketh amends with what we awakened almost twelve years ago . Though macbeth and his jointress did hath't the skin of a human, they did hath't hearts of demons.  _ (grabbing fleance's handeth and looking him in the eye) _ Prithee, fleance, promise me thee wilt at each moment beest a valorous sir.      

Fleance:  _ Taken aback _

 I promise…

Hecate: Anne!!!

 

_ Anne, startled, disappears.     _

 

Fleance:

Anne… A promise did keep 'til death… I wilt fain keepeth mine promise to thee, Anne, until the day i am layed in the earth so 't may reclaim mine corse.

 

_ Fleance turns to his stead uncertain. Strapped to the back of the saddle is a decorative blade wast a present for malcom to bray out the ten year anniversary of the death of macbeth and malcolm's crowning. Fleance excites. _

 


End file.
